


Leather Apron

by LadyLisa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Detectives, First Meetings, Fluff(?), Historical Hetalia, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24011293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLisa/pseuds/LadyLisa
Summary: Lovino Vargas, a brothel-keeper in the East End of London, calls a trio from Scotland Yard to investigate the murder of one of his his girls.
Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Leather Apron

Lovino adjusted his hat against the wind carrying the hesitant mizzle. It left droplets on the fibres of his coat and his lashes, made him shiver. It mused over the wet pavement, messing with bits of trash and old newspapers, bringing the odor of dirty water from off the Thames. The misty rain spun a halo around the gas lamps lining the roads, their light sparkling on the wet pavement. 

The whole area stunk of damp and rot. It made his stomach turn, and there was no fresh air to breathe down. He thought he smelled blood, too, bitter and salty as the ocean on a bleak and lifeless day when the clouds are one grey aggregation covering the sky. But he must have been imagining it. Blood didn’t have such a strong scent that he would be able to detect it from here. 

He clenched his hands over the head of his cane and kept staring down the street, peering through the static darkness to see three figures hurrying along the opposite sidewalk. They crossed, glancing up at the sign hanging over Lovino’s shoulder to ensure they had the right address. 

“Are you the proprietor?” 

“No, sir,” he said. “This is her family’s store. I’m Lovino Vargas, a friend.” 

“Detective Antonio Fernández.” He held out a hand. Lovino took it, even though his own was shaking so much he could hardly grip the detective’s. “This is Mr. Beilschmidt and Mr. Bonnefoy, from the homicide department. We’ve been informed there’s been a murder here.” 

Lovino swallowed. He gripped harder to the silver top of the cane. Normally, the metal was cold; now it was hot and slicked up with his sweat. 

“Yes,” he murmured. “Emma Bruin.” His throat got thick, and his voice wouldn’t keep steady. 

“Did you find her body?” 

“Yes.” His voice cracked. “She lives in the flat upstairs with her two brothers. They’re visiting Yorkshire, and she asked me to stay with her while they were away. We...we work together, see, and we’re rather close.” He watched him scribble something down and then tuck the notepad back into his coat. 

“When did you last see Miss Bruin alive?” 

“This evening, when she left work." 

“And what time was that?” 

“Just past four in the afternoon,” Lovino said. “I planned to come by at six o’clock. That was when I found her.” He braced his weight on his cane, forcing himself to draw a deep breath, and nodded. 

“She’s… she’s in the alley.” He pointed a shaking finger. 

He them into the narrow walk between the shop and a raggedy place selling eel pies. The apartment above the restaurant was dark, but a pallid face peered at them through parted strips of bed sheets fashioned into curtains. 

It was barely light enough to see in the alley, but Emma stood out like an eidolon, so pale on the rainwashed, glittering cobblestones. The blood reflected the light and settled between cracks in the stones differently than the water. 

Mr. Beilschmidt crouched down beside her. 

“What was her profession?” Mr. Bonnefoy asked him.

“She, she was a prostitute,” Lovino murmured. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. 

“Was there anyone with animosity towards Miss Bruin?” Mr. Fernández asked. Lovino shook his head.

“She was very kind. No one would want to hurt her,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m afraid it’s part of those Whitechapel murders.” 

“I don’t think so,” Mr. Fernández said. “She seems to be in rather, um, good condition for a victim of that fellow, but we will take it into consideration. What do you think, Mr. Beilschmidt?” 

He shook his head. “I can’t decide much of anything in the dark,” he said. “We’ll have to bring her where it’s lighter.” Lovino backed away as the two of them hefted her off the street. Her head lolled back and her limbs hung too heavy. 

He stayed by the edge of the eel pie shop. He didn’t want to see her. 

“It seems someone’s rather clumsily tried to disembowel her,” Mr. Beilschmidt said. Lovino swallowed hard to stop himself throwing up. 

“Just like the girls in Whitechapel,” Lovino said, still unable to bring his voice above a murmur. 

“That man isn’t clumsy,” Gilbert said. “Whoever did this didn’t know what he was doing. I’m not sure he’d even hacked up an animal before, it’s such a botched job. He’s ruptured her liver seemingly on accident, see—” 

“No, I do not see,” Lovino said. “And I don’t want to.” He swayed on the spot. Mr. Fernández gripped his arm to keep him standing upright. He glanced at the other two and murmured something, then gently led Lovino away from them. 

“Come along now, you’ve had enough for one night, I’m sure. I’ll take you home and make you some tea, would that be alright?” Lovino nodded with some effort, letting Mr. Fernández lead him down the street. He gave him his address, blinking through the rain and the dark and cold. 

“You’ll catch him, won’t you?” Lovino asked.

“Yes, we will,” he said. Lovino said nothing else as they walked to his home, where he collapsed at his kitchen table with his face in his hands. Mr. Fernández lit the oil lamps in the kitchen and busied himself with the stove. 

“Where’s your kettle?” he asked. Lovino gestured. “Were you close to her?”

“Yes,” Lovino said. “I know this must be police protocol, but please, I’d rather not speak of it now. And you don’t suspect me, do you?” he asked, voice quavering. “Are you going to ask me more questions? Are you going to make me go back?” 

“Not tonight, Mr. Vargas, no,” he said. “I have my theories, but I don’t see any reason to suspect you now. There have been an alarming amount of copycat killings of whores all over London since to ones in Whitechapel. I’m afraid your dear Miss Bruin may be one of them.” Lovino put his face back in his hands, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“I am very sorry, sir,” Antonio said. “I mean that sincerely.” He backed away and returned to the stove, trying to stoke the fire. The kitchen filled with a savory smell of woodsmoke as the fire cracked and gave its low sound of rushing heat as it burned.

Antonio brought the tea over to the table, setting it down in front of Lovino and sitting across from him. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked. 

“Talk to me, would you?” Lovino murmured. “I know it’s a childish thing to ask, but I need something else to think about right now.” 

“About what?” he asked.

“Anything,” he said. Antonio tapped his fingers on the table. He thought for a few minutes, then began a series of confusing but entertaining stories about his sea misadventures. Lovino might have even smiled during one as Antonio went out of his way with theatricality, trying to get him to laugh. 

When the teapot was empty it was the early hours of the morning. The rain had become heavy now, pattering on the roof and windows too, the light in the kitchen dimming. The adrenaline was fading and now Lovino was exhausted, the warm tea and low light making him feel much heavier and sleepier. 

Antonio noticed. “You should get your rest,” he said, standing up.

“Would you stay a little longer?” Lovino asked. 

“Well, I’ve already been gone so long I may as well,” Antonio said.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sorry, and your partners will ask questions—”

“Don’t worry,” Antonio said. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. We can’t do much investigating until it’s light anyway, and Gilbert will need to do a proper autopsy before then.” Lovino nodded and stood up, extinguishing the oil lamp and wandering into his living room, where he sat down on the couch. Antonio sat beside him, watching the rain hit the windows. 

Lovino lay back and slumped against his shoulder, not thinking. and when he realized what he’d done he jolted upright, flinching back.

“Did I startle you? I tried to stay still,” Antonio said. 

“I.. you’re not angry with me?” he asked.

“Of course not,” he replied. “Why would I be mad at you for sleeping? If my arm is more comfortable than your couch, go ahead,” he shrugged. “Not to critique your taste in furniture, but this couch isn’t exactly, um…” he trailed off. 

“It’s horrific, isn’t it?” Lovino asked.

“Quite,” he replied. He leaned against Antonio’s arm again. It was cold in his apartment and he curled close to him, relaxing against his body heat. “Thank you for staying with me. I don’t like spending my nights alone. I don’t like the dark.” 

“Are you afraid?” Antonio asked, his voice low. Lovino scoffed.

“I’m a grown man, I’m not afraid of the dark,” he hissed. 

“I see nothing wrong with it. A fear of the darkness is a fear of the unknown, and we’re all afraid of that,” Antonio replied. Lovino scoffed a little. “It’s true,” he said. 

“Why are you sitting so stiff?” Lovino asked.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He sat up. “Go ahead. Get comfortable, I don’t want you to suffer all night.” Antonio repositioned himself and Lovino leaned back against him. “Thank you for this.” 

Antonio nodded. Lovino tucked his arms between his chest and Antonio’s side, feeling the gentle movement of his chest as he breathed. “Will I see you again, after tonight?” 

“Do you want to see me again?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I expect we’ll have to ask you some questions—”

“No, not then. Some other time, when this is has passed. I… I really rather like you, but given the circumstances of our meeting…” he trailed off. Then he put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder to push himself up and whisper in his ear. 

“On a day when it’s sunny, go and look for me. And when you find me, pretend you’ve never seen my face before. Ask me my name, perhaps even fake delight when you hear it, if you want, as if you’ve met someone you know will leave a mark on your life, no matter how long he is there for.” Antonio smiled. 

“That should be simple enough,” he said. “And I will not have to fake any sort of delight. You are so lovely I feel I will have the same renewed wonder every time I see you, even for the hundredth one.” Lovino hid his face against Antonio’s arm, blushing. 

He surfaced from the coat after a moment and cleared his throat. “Then I ask two things of you, Mr. Carriedo. That you find who killed Emma, and that you will not leave me alone tonight, and perhaps no night for many months of my life.” 

“I promise to do both to the best of my ability,” he said. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, and after a few minutes he fell asleep with his cheek tucked against Antonio’s coat, listening to the rain hit the roof. 


End file.
